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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317339">blue eyes (like a deep blue sea)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/23bestfriends/pseuds/23bestfriends'>23bestfriends</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Women's Soccer RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>College, F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:28:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/23bestfriends/pseuds/23bestfriends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s so easy to hate Alex Morgan.<br/>She’s all glossy hair and tan skin and pretty blue eyes; she scores, it seems like, every damn time she touches the ball. And god, her smile-- it’s more of a smirk, really, the confident, self-assured grin of someone who <i>knows</i> they’re just better. At everything.<br/>//<br/>Christen and Alex through college.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Morgan/Christen Press</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>blue eyes (like a deep blue sea)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>wow! a new work ?! yes, i've returned from the dead-- otherwise known as the hell that is chronic writer's block. i know y'all are waiting for an update on nylnyt, but i've been furiously writing this instead. so here you go :) i promise there's more chapters coming soon !!</p><p>someone asked for chrislex fics and i churned out this oneshot even though i've never written chrislex. it was actually a lot of fun, although nothing compares to TC (we see you with the re-inc photo). and this is prolly the only time i'll be writing a ship with AM, since i really do adore her and servando together.</p><p>anyways, title taken from blue eyes by elton john. enjoy !!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>blue eyes holding back the tears<br/>
holding back the pain<br/>
baby’s got blue eyes<br/>
and she’s alone<br/>
again</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>It’s so easy to hate Alex Morgan.</p><p>She’s all glossy hair and tan skin and pretty blue eyes; she scores, it seems like, every damn time she touches the ball. And god, her smile-- it’s more of a smirk, really, the confident, self-assured grin of someone who <i>knows</i> they’re just better. At everything.</p><p>And obviously, Christen’s heard of Alex before. Alex makes headlines. Alex wins championships-- <i>state</i> championships. Alex singlehandedly puts Diamond Bar, California on the map and she shows up in every highlight reel and she goes to ODP and she gets national team call-ups.</p><p>Christen tries not to be jealous of that last one.</p><p>See, she knows that Alex is amazing. She knows that she’s pretty damn good herself, if her full ride to Stanford for four years of soccer is an indication of anything. But, apparently, not good enough. Not state-championship-good, not national-team-good, not <i>Alex Morgan</i>.</p><p>So yeah, it’s really, <i>really</i> easy to hate Alex Morgan.</p><p>//</p><p>The first time she actually meets Alex is freshman year of college. Stanford plays at Cal for their first game of their season, and the second the team steps off the bus, Christen spots Alex on the pitch. She’s the same toned, tan, glossy-haired star that’s been all over the news for years, and her eyes are just as piercing against the deep blue of her Cal jersey.</p><p>Christen doesn’t start, since it’s the first game and she’s only a freshman, but somehow, Alex does, despite being the same age as her. Christen tries to hype herself up for her first-ever college soccer match and she cheers extra-loudly when Kelley-- the energetic sophomore who’d adopted her at the first practice-- walks onto the pitch as Stanford’s starting striker, right across from Alex on Cal’s side of the field.</p><p>The whistle blows, Cal kicks off, and then all Christen can think is <i>dear god</i>. </p><p>Alex explodes down the field in a flurry of blue and gold, dribbling circles around dazed Stanford defenders and sending long passes flying through the air towards her teammates. Her footwork is messy at times, and she doesn’t yet play with that poised easiness of older or more professional players, but one thing is clear: she’s fucking <i>good</i>. All Christen can do is watch, in awe, as the first-- and certainly not last-- spectacular goal comes just four minutes into the game.</p><p>Stanford calls an early timeout after that. Unusual, especially for a college game, but then again, no one’s ever seen anyone quite like Alex Morgan before, either. Christen watches from her spot on the bench as Kelley bounces agitatedly in the huddle, frustrated scowl on the sophomore’s face.</p><p>The rest of the game goes both agonizingly slow and overwhelmingly fast. To her surprise and delight, Christen gets subbed on in the 68th minute. It’s 2-1, Cal’s game, and honestly, she’s kind of surprised that Stanford’s held up like this for so long, let alone having scored at all.</p><p>She jogs onto the pitch and falls into step near Kelley, who’s covered in dirt and grass stains from the extremely physical game. Adrenaline rushes into her veins at the feeling of being on the field, in her brand-new Stanford jersey, playing opposite the great Alex Morgan. <i>And we better damn win this match against Cal,</i> Christen thinks, looking at the determined set of Kelley’s jaw.</p><p>They lose.</p><p>In the 87th minute, Alex scores her second goal of the night on a beautiful free kick that slips past the hands of their keeper. Kelley swears loudly and earns a nasty look from the ref walking by, and Christen tries not to cry as she watches the Cal players mob Alex.</p><p>
  <i>God, that smirk.</i>
</p><p>They fight all the way into the four minutes of stoppage time, but there’s no way to get two goals in seven minutes no matter how valiantly they try. Christen knows it’s over before the final whistle even blows.</p><p>Afterwards, after everyone’s forced themselves to sulk through their coach’s excruciating postgame speech in the blue-and-gold locker room, Christen hurries out to the parking lot. But she doesn’t file onto the team bus like some of her other teammates are doing. Instead, she throws her duffel on the ground and collapses onto the curb.</p><p>Christen exhales and drops her head into her hands. She knows it’s not her fault, not anyone’s fault, really, except for maybe Alex Morgan’s, but it still stings like hell to lose her first-ever college game. And maybe if she’d made those two shots, or cleared that deep ball early enough, or been in a better position when Kelley had sent that ball past the Cal fifteen-yard line… </p><p>She’s not sure how long she’s been sitting there-- a long time, probably, since she was one of the first ones out of the locker room-- when a voice at her shoulder startles her out of her daze.</p><p>“Hey, you okay?” someone asks, and at first Christen thinks it’s Kelley, but the voice is raspier than Kelley’s voice, and the hand on her shoulder is much gentler than it would be otherwise, and so Christen raises her head, turning to look at--</p><p>--oh.</p><p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p><p>She stares into the electrifying blue eyes of none other than Alex Morgan. For someone who’s just started her first-ever full ninety as a freshman-- and won-- Alex doesn’t seem to look very happy. Not that Christen really notices, obviously. Or cares.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she ekes out, pasting a fake smile on her face and gently shaking off Alex’s hand. “Yeah. I’m fine.”</p><p>“You know, you really played amazing today,” Alex adds. Christen scans the other forward’s face for signs of sarcasm or mocking, but there’s nothing in those eyes except for genuine admiration. “When you came on in the second half, all I could think was <i>oh, shit.</i>”</p><p>“You've heard of me?” Christen blurts. Alex smirks.</p><p>“Of course,” she replies, and then, “Especially since you’re, you know, a <i>Cardinal.</i> What with that whole rivalry thing.”</p><p>Despite the circumstances, Christen finds herself grinning at the teasing dryness laced through Alex’s tone. “Well, you’re not too bad yourself. What with those two goals tonight during your first game,” she adds, copying the blue-eyed girl’s words, and feeling oddly satisfied when that smirk appears on Alex’s face again.</p><p>“Not bad, huh? From the great Christen Press? Wow, that cuts, Pressy,” Alex says, with fake hurt. Christen finds that she doesn’t mind being called Pressy, at least if it’s Alex saying it to her.</p><p>“Hey, Chris! Get your ass over here!” It’s Kelley-- finally out from the locker room-- shouting at her from the steps of the team bus, with the rest of the girls peering intently out the tinted windows at her and Alex. Christen blushes furiously and hastily swings her duffel onto her shoulder.</p><p>“Good game!” she calls to Alex as she rushes towards the bus.</p><p>“You too, Pressy. Hope to see you soon.”</p><p>Kelley shoves her into a seat the moment she steps onto the bus, sliding in next to her. “So, Alex Morgan, huh?”</p><p>Christen’s too busy glancing out the window at the girl standing in the parking lot. “Uh… wait, sorry, what?”</p><p>Kelley smirks. “You’re whipped.”</p><p>Allison, the junior in the seat behind them, hollers, “Better not be spilling any team secrets, Pressy!”</p><p>On hearing the nickname, Christen hides a smile, turning back around as the bus starts moving forward. She leans her face against the cool glass of the window; Kelley’s telling some story about the pranks they pulled on Cal last year, hands gesturing animatedly, but Christen’s not really listening. She’s watching the girl still in the near-empty lot as they pull onto the road.</p><p>With another small smile, she closes her eyes to try and get some sleep. Visions of stormy oceans and deep blue eyes haunt her the whole way back to Stanford.</p><p>//</p><p>The second time they meet is at a game again, this time on Stanford’s field as sophomores. By now, Christen’s secured a regular spot for herself in the starting lineup and a reputation for being one of the fastest players on the field. And she still hasn’t forgotten about the loss to Cal last year-- no one on the team has forgotten, and they’re hungry for a victory tonight.</p><p>When the Cal team pours onto the field during warmups, Christen immediately finds Alex, and it feels like they’re intentionally looking for each other with how quickly blue eyes meet green. Alex smirks and raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge. Christen chips a ball up into her own hands, never breaking eye contact even though she can feel a flush rising on her cheeks.</p><p>The game is long and grueling again. Alex is just as talented as she remembers-- well, she’s actually even better than freshman year. Her speed can almost match Christen, and that raw skill has been honed. Her first touches are insane, Christen thinks, and she watches Alex’s fearless headers with admiration (something she still needs to work on for herself, as Kelley’s already nicknamed her <i>Turtle</i> for her apprehension about heading the ball).</p><p>Even so, it’s more of an equal matchup this year. One of the forwards who’d played alongside Alex last year had graduated, and the junior who’s replaced her isn’t nearly as good at responding to Alex’s passes. Stanford’s working together much better and shutting down many more of Cal’s attempts to score-- mostly due to Kelley, who slide-tackles like she’s a defender and even gets a yellow card late in the first half.</p><p>Regular time ends with the teams tied at two goals each. Everyone fights through overtime, but Christen can see that even Alex is tiring, and when the extra minutes finally wind down with no goal from either side, she visibly breathes a sigh of relief.</p><p>The locker room is much happier this year. Christen showers and changes with a sense of pride that even if they hadn’t won against Cal, they hadn’t lost, either. She’s one of the first ones done and she heads out as always.</p><p>To her surprise, Alex is perched on the bleachers right outside the tunnel, freshly showered and in a clean t-shirt and sweats. The sophomore stares out at the field dejectedly.</p><p>“Hey,” Christen calls, making her way up the bleachers, and when Alex turns, a sense of familiarity hits them both.</p><p>“You played amazing today,” Christen adds. Alex cracks a smile at the conversation that’s being repeated in reverse from last year.</p><p>“Thanks. Not enough, obviously, as you guys were pretty damn amazing yourselves.”</p><p>For some reason, Christen feels a sudden urge to make Alex feel better. “Hey, I don’t know how long you guys can stay, but some of the soccer guys are having a party in one of the frat houses. You guys should come.”</p><p>(What she really means by <i>you guys</i> is just Alex, but whatever.)</p><p>The other girl is silent for a moment before she shrugs and stands. “Yeah, sounds cool. We’re not heading back until tomorrow, anyways. Coach found us a hotel like ten minutes away. Text me the address?”</p><p>Christen nods and stands to head out, too, before she realizes… “Wait, I don’t think I have your number.”</p><p>Alex smiles and reaches her hand out for Christen’s phone before punching in a string of digits. “Well, now you do. Later, Pressy.”</p><p>:::</p><p>Two hours later, Christen is <i>really</i> starting to regret coming to this party.</p><p>She’d invited Alex on an impulse-- and because she could practically hear Kelley nagging her-- but the party is too loud, and it smells like light beer and tequila and weed, and there’s too many fucking people. Every available place to sit is occupied by shot glasses and empty bottles or a couple in the throes of making out. Sometimes multiple couples. On the same couch.</p><p>The deep bass thrums through the house. Christen hates it. She never even comes to frat parties. Her head hurts from the smoke and music and beer and all she really wants to do is go back to her dorm and watch a movie, and Alex still hasn’t shown--</p><p>--at that moment, the front door swings open, Alex stepping in cautiously.</p><p>Christen’s heart practically sings at the sight of the blue-eyed girl walking in. She hastily grabs a fresh Solo cup from the counter and hurries over to the door.</p><p>“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” she says, and immediately regrets it. <i>What are you, Christen, someone from the fucking 1950s?</i></p><p>But Alex only smiles and takes a sip from the cup being offered. “I mean, I’m not really sure why I’m here either, in the middle of enemy territory. But this really pretty girl invited me so I had to say yes.”</p><p>Christen flushes redder than the cup in her hand.</p><p>Alex smiles devilishly and brushes by her into the frat house. “Bud Light? How bougie of you guys, Pressy. At Cal we just make do with Coors.”</p><p>“All the better to get blackout drunk and make out with someone you don’t know.”</p><p>Alex stops and turns around. “And do you do that, Pressy? Get blackout drunk and make out with people you don’t know?”</p><p>Maybe it’s the alcohol flowing through her veins. Maybe it’s the challenging look in Alex’s eyes. Maybe Kelley’s finally rubbing off on her, but Christen raises an eyebrow back and says, “Only the pretty ones from other schools.”</p><p>Alex’s blue eyes darken just the slightest bit as she downs the rest of her beer in one gulp. “Sounds like you do that pretty often, then.”</p><p>Christen shrugs, mirroring Alex’s movement, and licks her lips. “Only when there’s a reason to.”</p><p>(And, oh, dear god, the way Alex’s lips turn up into a smirk, and how that pretty pink dusts her cheekbones…)</p><p>Kelley bursts through the throng of people, her face flushing and her hair a mess, already bordering on tipsy. “Pressyyyyyyyyy! Come play beeeeeer pong with meeeeeee--”</p><p>She stops short when she sees Alex. “Chris, you invited <i>her</i>?”</p><p>“Well, why not?”</p><p>“Because-- because she goes to <i>Cal,</i> Christen. Cal! Of all the schools! You should’ve just gone to UNC and brought over a bunch of their players or something.”</p><p>Alex snorts in mock annoyance. “The disrespect. I can’t believe it. But you were saying something about beer pong? I’d like to beat you in that. Show you that Cal’s the superior Californian school.”</p><p>Kelley grins. “I’d like to see you try.”</p><p>Christen jumps into the conversation, feeling uncomfortable with the way Alex and Kelley are staring each other down. “Guys, maybe this isn’t such a good id--”</p><p>“BE ON MY TEAM!” Alex shouts, grabbing Christen’s arm, and the dark-haired girl’s breath catches for a moment. “Oh, we’re <i>so</i> gonna kick your ass, O’Hara.”</p><p>They do kick Kelley’s and Allison’s asses at beer pong, but it’s mostly Alex. The Cal sophomore is unnervingly good at it-- like the way she’s unnervingly good at fucking <i>everything</i>, Christen thinks as she tries not to stare too hard. The beer she had earlier is making her really warm and her head is buzzing and did Alex’s arms always look that good in a tank top?</p><p>Kelley grumbles, annoyed, as she takes a swig of beer. “Okay, Morgan. Just because you won at beer pong doesn’t mean that Cal’s the better school. Plus, you had Chris on your team, so it doesn’t count.”</p><p>Alex looks infuriatingly smug with herself. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Hey, I’m gonna go grab some shots, you guys want any?”</p><p>“Tequila!” Kelley says, immediately more excited. “I’ll come with you!” It’s Friday night and they don’t have a game next week, which means that they can let loose and have something to drink.</p><p>“Pace yourself, KO,” Allison warns, but the freckled forward is long gone.</p><p>“I don’t even know why I bother,” the senior captain mutters, slipping into the crowd. “Later, Press. Keep an eye on Kell for me.”</p><p>Christen hums in agreement and moves into the crowd. There’s a pleasant sort of buzzy adrenaline in her body from the drinks, and she starts to dance, swaying along with the crowd to the music blasting out of the massive speakers. All around her are people-- drunk college students, couples making out and grinding, frat boys. With a sudden burst of daringness, she presses her body backwards.</p><p>A pair of large, rough hands come to settle on her hips, and whoever it is starts to grind into her. She stiffens, startled and appalled, and tries to move away or turn around, but the hands grip harder on her waist and the space is so densely packed with people that she can’t go anywhere.</p><p>Suddenly, there’s the unpleasant sound of someone being slapped, and the hands quickly release her. She twists around to see people moving nervously aside as Alex yells at a tall, muscular frat boy.</p><p>“Get your hands off her, you insolent prick!” she screams, and the guy shifts back as she raises her hand. “She was obviously uncomfortable and you were being a douche!”</p><p>The guy smirks, but it’s nowhere near as attractive as Alex’s smirk-- really, all it does is make him look like the asshole that Alex is calling him. “Hey, c’mon, man--” </p><p>“Don’t call me <i>man</i>.”</p><p>“--whoa, whoa, we were just dancing, dude. And she started it! What are you, anyways, her girlfriend?”</p><p>“Maybe I am. Got a problem with that?” Alex challenges, and the guy shoots her a dirty look.</p><p>(Christen chokes at Alex’s words.)</p><p>“Bitch,” the guy shoots back.</p><p>“Fuck off,” Alex spits, then turns to Christen. “Pressy, you okay?”</p><p>Christen is, in fact, <i>not</i> okay, but it’s not because of the frat guy. It’s the way Alex had been there in a flash, defending her, and how she hadn’t even denied the guy’s accusation. It’s the way Alex is looking at her, all concerned and worried, like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.</p><p>“Shots,” Christen mumbles, snagging Alex by the arm and pushing through the onlookers. “I need some fucking tequila.”</p><p>Alex grins amusedly. “A little desperate, aren’t we, Pressy?”</p><p><i>Yes.</i> “No. Fuck off.”</p><p>Alex chuckles again, and the sound sends a shiver down Christen’s spine. “Okay, okay, I got you. Tequila.”</p><p>Kelley comes barrelling towards them, holding a tray of shots and lime. “Al, you really beat up a guy? For sweet little Press here?”</p><p>“He was being a dick,” Alex says, at the same time that Christen protests, “Hey, I’m not ‘sweet little Press’!”</p><p>Kelley ignores them both and leads them into the kitchen, where about a dozen girls from the team and a couple guys from the boys’ team are sitting (or laying) on the table. “Heard y’all were in need of some tequila. Perfect timing. We were just about to start doing body shots!”</p><p>
  <i>What?!</i>
</p><p>“Hey, actually, I think I’m gonna head out,” Christen says lamely, in what might be the worst excuse of the century, with the worst timing of the century. Kelley narrows her eyes.</p><p>“Body shot,” the junior demands.</p><p>“No, Kell.”</p><p>“BODY SHOT.”</p><p>Christen sighs and takes a shot glass and a slice of lime. “Fine. Only one, though, then I’m going home.”</p><p>“You’re no fun,” Kelley grumbles, then claps her hands. “All right, y’all, time to strip down for these shots! First up, Pressy and Miss Cal over here!”</p><p>
  <i>Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.</i>
</p><p>“No-- Kelley, no.”</p><p>“Christen, yes! You agreed to this! You invited her, so you gotta do it. C’mon, lighten up!”</p><p>Christen wants to smack Kelley off the face of the Earth right now, but the jabs die in her throat as she turns and sees Alex peeling off her tank top. Underneath is a plain black bra and-- fuck, those abs… </p><p>One of the girls wolf-whistles. “Damn, girl.”</p><p>As if that isn’t enough, Alex smirks her infuriating smirk as she lays herself on the table and looks at Christen, eyes so dark that Christen feels like she’s about to pass out. “Tequila, huh?”</p><p>Christen flushes all the way from her neck and focuses on carefully pouring the shot onto Alex’s tan, toned abs, sprinkling a trail of salt on the way down. Alex’s muscles tense as the cold liquid hits her skin, and it takes everything in Christen to <i>not</i> think about… well, other things involving a shirtless Alex.</p><p>(Not that she thinks about other things. Or a shirtless Alex. Obviously not.)</p><p>Finally, she slides the slice of lime between Alex’s pretty lips, still curved up in a grin, and leans down, her face burning as she puts her mouth to Alex’s stomach.</p><p>God, the tequila burns and makes her eyes water, but all Christen can focus on is that she’s currently licking salt off <i>the</i> Alex Morgan’s abs, and then Alex lets out this strangled little sound as Christen’s tongue traces the ridges of her muscles, and it hits Christen, hot and low in her stomach. It’s her turn to smirk now. She pushes herself onto the table, hovering over Alex with both her hands braced on either side of the Cal sophomore’s shoulders, and carefully sucks the slice of lime out of Alex’s mouth.</p><p>Their lips just barely brush for a millisecond as Christen pulls away; she swears she hears a quiet moan. Alex’s eyes are darker than the ocean on a cloudy night, the blue almost completely obscured by her dilated pupils.</p><p>Breathing hard, Christen leans back. Her head pounds-- not entirely from the alcohol-- and the shot still stings, and all she can think about is Alex Morgan, and her abs, and her smirk, and her blue eyes. All she can think about is Alex, Alex, Alex.</p><p>Nausea hits her like a freight train. She stumbles as she slides off the table, the slice of lime dropping to the floor. “I’m going home.”</p><p>Kelley looks confused. “But…”</p><p>“I’m going home. Bye, Kell,” and then, as an afterthought, she throws a weak wave towards the rest of them. “Bye, guys.”</p><p>She doesn’t say goodbye to Alex, or acknowledge that she’d just taken a body shot off her. She doesn’t even look in her direction as she forces herself through the house and out the door.</p><p>Outside, it’s chilly. The sounds of the party emanate faintly from the frat house like it’s underwater.</p><p>Underwater. That’s a good way to describe how Christen feels right now as she stumbles back to her dorm with her ears pounding and a headache coming on already. She really shouldn’t have had that much beer. She really shouldn’t have taken those shots, especially not the last shot off Alex’s abs.</p><p>By some miracle, she makes it back safely and without campus patrol arresting her for being drunk. The first thing she does after getting inside is to run to the bathroom and throw up. Christen heaves, clutching the edges of the toilet bowl, until her throat burns and her eyes prickle with tears, and even then, it’s still not enough to distract her from the throbbing in her head— and more importantly, the ache in her heart.</p><p>//</p><p>Junior year, they don’t play Cal.</p><p>Kelley, now a senior and one of the best all-time scorers that Stanford’s ever had, expresses her disappointment at least fifteen thousand times over the course of the season. “We would’ve beat them,” she insists, then always follows it up with, “so you guys better kick their asses next year for me.”</p><p>She doesn’t mention Alex or that night at the frat house. After the party, Kelley’s only brought it up once, when she asked Christen about it the morning after.</p><p>“What’s up with you and Morgan?” she’d said, and Christen had scowled and taken an aggressive gulp of water.</p><p>“Nothing. I took a body shot, it was a bad idea, I left the party. We don't talk. What do you fucking want?” she snapped.</p><p>Kelley raised her hands. “Hey, whoa, just asking. I’m sorry, Pressy.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Christen added, and retreated to her room. The topic had been left untouched ever since.</p><p>Honestly, she’s not sure whether she’s relieved or disappointed at not seeing Alex for so long. She’s glad that she doesn’t have to relive her humiliating exit from the party. But there’s something about not seeing the other girl for so long… </p><p><i>You’ve literally met her twice,</i> Christen chides herself. <i>Why are you so concerned with when you’ll see her again? It’s not like you’re even close with her.</i></p><p>By now, Kelley is getting regular call-ups for the national team, both the U-20 and the senior teams, and from what Christen’s heard, so is Alex. She’s happy for her best friend, and she knows that both Kelley and Alex deserve 100% of it-- yet she can’t help but feel angry every time she thinks about it. She’s a good player, too. She scores goals and she has assists and she’s fast and she sets records, goddamnit, so why isn’t she going to national team camps?</p><p>Stupid Alex Morgan. Of course Alex gets consistent call-ups, gets to play in <i>tournaments,</i> when all Christen can hope for is just a single chance.</p><p>They have a good season. They have a great season, actually, without having to play Cal, Christen thinks cynically. Kelley plays amazingly, racking up 26 goals and 13 assists. </p><p>And then they lose the Cup to UNC-- Christen doesn’t think she’s cried so hard in her entire life, especially when Kelley gets ejected after two yellow cards in the second half.</p><p>It turns out to be alright. Kelley wins the Hermann Trophy, beating out Tobin Heath-- a midfielder from UNC who’s one of Kelley’s best friends from the national team-- and Lauren Cheney, a forward from UCLA. Christen watches the whole ceremony on the tiny TV in her dorm and screams so loud when they announce Kelley’s name that the girl next door has to come ask if she’s okay.</p><p>Kelley graduates with so many awards and honors and records from over the years that she can barely count them all, and she gets drafted third overall in the pros, and Christen cries happy tears for her best friend (and she thanks the soccer gods that FC Gold Pride is very close to Stanford).</p><p>“This’ll be you next year,” Kelley tells her, on one of the last nights they spend together before Kelley has to start training camp in Santa Clara, and Christen cries some more.</p><p>“You do know who Alex Morgan is, right?” she jokes through the tears.</p><p>“Well, yeah. But you’ll always be the best, Turtle. Just you wait and see.”</p><p>//</p><p>It turns out Kelley was right-- partially.</p><p>Christen breaks all of the records that Kelley set the previous year. She plays so well that all the news stations and sports stations all start wondering why the USWNT hasn’t come calling yet. They have a playoff-worthy year, everyone says.</p><p>Last game of the regular season is against Cal.</p><p>Fitting, Christen muses. The first and last games of her college career will be against the same team, with the same blue-eyed striker from freshman year still leading the attack.</p><p>(She hopes that one specific part of history doesn’t repeat itself and that they’ll finally have a win against Cal.</p><p>For some reason, she’s also unreasonably excited to see Alex again.)</p><p>It’s a tough game as always, but this time, Stanford is prepared. The lone goal of the game comes from Christen in the 68th minute-- the same time, she realizes later, that she’d been subbed on in her first game.</p><p>Alex doesn’t score.</p><p>Afterwards, when all the cheering fans have filtered out and the Cardinal locker room practically breaks down in joy, Christen slips back out to the field. It’s bittersweet, really. There’s been so many memories on this field: good, bad, happy, sad, and everything in between. She had her first-ever college practice here. She’s just played her last regular season game on this grass.</p><p>She jogs out to midfield and lays there for a while, staring up at the sky and reminiscing, until the sprinklers come on and she’s forced to go back. This time, though, she’s not alone in the tunnel. Someone in blue and gold, with piercing blue eyes--</p><p>“Long time no see,” Alex says, a trace of bitterness in her tone.</p><p>Christen forces a smile. “Um, yeah. Yeah, you too.”</p><p>“You know, it’s strange to think that I just played my last-ever match of college soccer,” Alex continues, as if she’s read Christen’s thoughts. </p><p>But Stanford still has their playoff games. It’s not <i>really</i> over yet for Christen. Alex, though… </p><p>“It’s sobering. I think about it and I wanna cry. How can it be the last time? I won’t ever put on the blue and gold again. I won’t ever run out of the tunnel with that team by my side. And I didn’t even score. God, I didn’t even score.”</p><p>“I get it,” Christen says quietly-- not the last game, although she’s sure she’ll be just as emotional when that time comes for her, but the feeling of being so helpless, of not scoring for your team. They fall into a heavy stillness, standing in the shadows of the tunnel and looking out at the wide, empty field.</p><p>Alex breaks it.</p><p>“So do you always do that-- take body shots off girls and then disappear for two whole years?”</p><p>Christen is silent.</p><p>“Two fucking <i>years,</i> Christen. I waited two years for you. I know we weren’t-- <i>aren’t</i>-- all cozy and best-friend-y, like, I don’t know, Kelley and Tobin, but you could’ve at least called. To say hi. To say, <i>hey, this is Christen, the hot girl who got drunk and took a body shot off you at a frat party, how are you?</i>”</p><p>“This is Christen, the-- the what? You think I’m… hot?”</p><p>Alex scoffs. “So that’s all you got out of my rant. Good to know you’re still as good at communication as you were sophomore year. It was nice to see you, Pressy.”</p><p>She turns to leave, starts to walk away and back towards the locker rooms, when Christen catches her shoulder suddenly. “Wait-- Alex, wait.”</p><p>Alex stops, sighing heavily, but she turns to face Christen.</p><p>“Alex, I-- that’s not all I got out of it. And I know that it was an asshole move for me to just get up and leave that party. I know I could’ve at least called or texted to say hi. I know I could’ve and I know I should’ve, and frankly, I think about it every day. I think about what would’ve happened if I’d stayed a little longer. Or if we’d started talking even after you guys went back to Cal. I think about it so much that it hurts, Alex, and most of all I wonder why I didn’t--”</p><p>Christen breaks off. Alex’s eyes are stormy again, just like that night at the party.</p><p>“You didn’t do what?” Alex asks, voice dangerously soft as she stares into beautiful green eyes.</p><p>“<i>This.</i>”</p><p>Christen surges forward and kisses Alex, and god, the feeling of Alex’s soft lips pressed against her own--</p><p>Alex stiffens for a moment, startled, before softening, her hands coming up to cup Christen’s face. She traces her tongue along the seam of Christen’s lips and slides in, eliciting a soft moan from the dark-haired girl’s throat.</p><p>Christen settles her hands on Alex’s waist, and without breaking their kiss, backs them into the cold concrete of the tunnel wall. She presses herself into Alex’s body; they fit together perfectly, all slender arms and toned abs, and dear god, every nerve in her body is on fire--</p><p>She breaks away, panting, and watches as Alex’s familiar smirk curves across kiss-swollen lips.</p><p>“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Christen breathes, unable to stop a grin of her own from stretching across her face.</p><p>“You know, I distinctly recall you saying something about… hmm, getting blackout drunk and making out with people from other schools.”</p><p>Christen smirks back. “Only with the hot ones.”</p><p>And <i>oh,</i> the way a blush appears across Alex’s cheeks at that statement… </p><p>“So you think I’m hot, huh?” Alex says, repeating Christen’s words from earlier, blue eyes smoldering.</p><p>And Christen can’t think of any way to wipe that adorable, obnoxious grin off Alex’s face, so she just leans in and kisses her again.</p><p>//</p><p>So yeah, it’s easy to hate Alex Morgan.</p><p>She’s so <i>perfect</i>. She scores too many goals, and plays soccer way too well, and she’s annoyingly hot with her beach-tanned skin and her abs and her glossy hair. She’s cocky; she smirks because she <i>knows</i> she’s good, and even that’s so unfairly attractive. She’s smart and funny and snarky and everything that everyone wants to be. And she’s infuriatingly good at everything from beer pong to kissing.</p><p>But the thing is, as Christen finds out, as they stand in that cold, empty tunnel in the stadium; as they might one day stand across from each other in white dresses, with flowers in their hair and tears in their eyes--</p><p>--the thing is, it’s so easy to love Alex Morgan, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what do we think ?</p><p>please please PLEASE hit me with requests, tropes, prompts, ships, ideas, and more! i love writing y'alls suggestions, and a lot of the time you guys come up w better fic ideas anyways oop--</p><p>lmao stay tuned for nylnyt and more fics coming soon. thanks for the kudos + comments!! as always tumblr @the23bestfriends and i love y'all &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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